


A House Divided

by CCNSurvivor



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 06:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19806685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCNSurvivor/pseuds/CCNSurvivor
Summary: Remember that black/white house photo that someone tweeted to Michael Sheen and Neil Gaiman? Here's a ficlet for it that nobody asked for.





	A House Divided

The house just appeared one day. Perhaps it had been there all along, or perhaps it had been waiting for the right time. 

A few months after Armageddon had been averted, Aziraphale and Crowley had decided to see a bit more of the world they’d nearly lost and taken to going on long walks or drives together. Of course, there was no sense in getting carried away – after all, there were books to guard and plants to intimidate - and so most of their ventures were limited to the suburbs in the immediate vicinity of the city of London. 

The demon Crowley was behind the wheel on that particular day and it was a miracle that, given the speed he was doing, he even took note of the house. 

“Look, angel,” he said, his voice quirking up against his throat in a manner which dissolved all of the vowels into a chortle, “remind you of anything?” 

Aziraphale who until then had been clutching onto his seat, cast a nervous glance outside the window. The building in question loomed tall behind a long black fence and was flanked on either side by rows of well-maintained hedges. 

“I’d rather you keep your eyes on the road,” he tutted, but, of course, the parallels had not escaped him. 

Split neatly in half, the right and the left side of the house were exactly the same, from the number and shape of the windows right down to the two front doors. But it was the façade, really, that captured all the attention. Lathered in black and cream paint, it was a perfect representation of yin and yang, night and day, good and bad.

“One or two things do come to mind.” 

He waited just long enough for Crowley to start driving again before he sought to gaze at him with that mixture of fondness and suppressed hope that he’d somehow perfected through the centuries. Perhaps they could…if only he dared…

* * *

Two weeks and a celestial miracle later – much to the luck of the unwitting previous tenants who would have found a demonic miracle far less agreeable – Aziraphale and Crowley were in the fortunate position of calling themselves homeowners. It wasn’t their first time, of course, and yet much was different. 

The left side of the building kept mainly in light colours was stuffed with books from the floor to the rafters. First editions were carefully locked behind glass while pamphlets and dog-eared paperback copies protruded here and there from clumsily mounted shelves that nonetheless never creaked underneath the weight. Comfortable armchairs were dotted around a well-worn carpet and one particularly dramatic chaise lounge had been positioned in a reading nook by the window, complete with a throw of burgundy satin. 

In contrast, then, the right side of the house felt rather bare, minimally furnished as it was and offset against dark grey painted walls. The only exception being the first floor which had been transformed into a small greenhouse. Stems of ivy were crawling across walls and ceiling, interweaving with the blue luscious blooms of clematis while pots of fern and ficus had taken over much of the floor. 

Aziraphale had been told in no uncertain terms to avoid the room, as he would only be tempted to be encouraging to the plants. And a temptation accomplished only tasted half as good when reeking of good intentions. Of course, Crowley wouldn’t have spent centuries with the angel if he hadn’t been known to break the odd rule once in a while, so he knew that there was a certain futility to his threats. 

Tip-toeing out of the aforementioned room and through the only door that connected one side of the building with the other, Aziraphale paused by the chaise lounge long enough to run his hand through Crowley’s carefully styled hair. “It’s nearly time, my dear boy. You mustn’t miss it.”

“Mmhyeah…a’right…” the demon mumbled sleepily in response, making no attempts to straighten. His long limbs remained where they were, dangling lazily over the edge of the antique sofa. 

By pure chance or heavenly intervention, the sun always shone brightest through the window by the reading nook and more than once Crowley had settled for an afternoon doze in his serpentine form only to wake up in his human shape to find evening had swallowed up all light and taken with it all wonderful warmth.

“I will just fetch my cocoa and then I shall join you upstairs,” Aziraphale continued, navigating his own overfull space with ease. 

“Cocoa,” Crowley echoed with a hint of mockery which tickled the angel’s ears but went otherwise uncommented. He stretched long and luxuriously for several minutes, cocking his head to the right and the left until all kinks were banished and then meandered into his half of the house, through the forest of plants and up into the attic. 

His fingertips trailed aimlessly along the walls as he cut through the complete darkness, welcoming the stillness of the air as something tangible and true. Light had no place in this room. 

The stars were already in full glow by the time he settled on the sofa, and they only dimmed briefly when Aziraphale entered and his own celestial sheen caught and broke itself in the glass of the window. 

“Here you are.” He settled down next to Crowley and one mug of cocoa traded hands. “I added two shots of Whiskey this time.” 

A telling silence followed. No witty remark. No stubborn denial. Just quiet. 

Aziraphale stole a glance at his companion and leaned back against the cushions. He’d aligned his leg with the demon’s, offering strength and support where words were superfluous. Minutes ticked by but Crowley did not touch his drink. 

Outside, the wide canvas of the night sky had shaken off the dark blues and greys and embraced a crisp cloak of inky black. And one by one stars began to fall towards earth, shining brightest just before dying, streaking down from heaven in an ethereal glow. 

Behind his glasses, Crowley’s eyes were wet. His breath hitched. No longer containable inside his human form, it had expanded and swelled into the barest of sounds but the loudest articulation of sorrow. 

“They’re beautiful,” Aziraphale spoke softly into the silence, his eyes brimming with kindness and understanding. His hand overcame the distance between them and covered Crowley’s own. “Bold and true until the end.” 

Thumb brushed against thumb in a wordless communication. 

“If not for darkness, we wouldn’t know light. One needs the other. It’s…” 

“If you say “ineffable” I might have to shut you up for good,” Crowley muttered, drawing a slight chuckle from him.

“It’s like us, I was going to say if you must know.” He paused for a moment to consider. “Bound. Tethered. Whole.” 

Crowley’s searching gaze was palpable on his skin. “Whole?” 

Aziraphale nodded and drew his hand up to his lips. “Whole.” 

And so in a house divided, a simple house of black and white, of bricks and mortar, the whole tapestry of a century-old life shared converged into one moment of truth. Perhaps it had always been there, or perhaps it had simply been waiting for the right time.


End file.
